


the heart is just an organ

by relentlessing



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Divergence, F/M, Post BoO, but make it realistic, caleo - Freeform, calypso-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25800976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relentlessing/pseuds/relentlessing
Summary: Sometimes, love isn't enough. And they both know now there's no happy endings for people like them.
Relationships: Calypso/Leo Valdez
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	the heart is just an organ

Calypso watches Leo load up the raft. 

If she closes her eyes, she can pretend that she isn't a titaness bound by a curse, and he isn't a demigod destined to save the world. But she keeps them open. There's no use for dreams in Ogygia.

"I'll come back for you." His voice is unwavering, and so is the conviction in his eyes. She breathes a sigh. Though she has been away from the world for millennia, she remembers enough to know how this goes: another mortal foolish enough to think they will be the exception. "I promise."

_But he’s the first_ , the wind whispers in her ear. _The first and the only to say this._

"I don't want your promise." Her voice comes out too sharp. He flinches. "No man finds Ogygia twice, Leo. I told you that.”

He bites his lip, his eyes darting from the raft to her. "Trust me, then?"

Oh, she does. She has no doubt that he can–she’s seen how intelligent he is, how determined when he puts his mind to it–but hope is a dangerous thing. She’s been burned too many times. With another sigh, she turns away. "You should go before the raft disappears.”

She doesn't know why it's here. There's no heart pounding, no rushing adrenaline—only quiet acceptance that he too is temporary, no matter what he likes to believe. He can't save her. That's not love. Perhaps one of the gods sent it, having had their fill of entertainment. Gaia's growing stronger with time, and now they need their pawn back to resolve...it. Whatever _it_ is. 

They lapse into silence. She wants to scream, chuck him in the raft and send him away, but another part of her wants to savour this moment. This may be the last time she ever sees him–Gaia is a formidable enemy, and if the prophecy is to be interpreted as she thinks, there’s no chance, no way– 

“I won’t die,” he says. For once, his hands are perfectly still, but the rest of his body thrums with nervous energy. 

“I hope so.” The raft drifts from the shore, and Leo hastily tugs it back. It’s their cue; she can’t delay him any longer. “Your friends are waiting.”

He dawdles some more, clearly wanting to say something. She raises an eyebrow. 

“I just–“ the words come out in a jumbled rush. “I know I’m not your typical hero. And I know you hate me. But I swear–“

“I don’t want empty promises.” 

He tilts his head. With the glow from the fire, he looks almost ethereal, almost powerful. Her heart almost hurts. “How about a full promise? Because I’m definitely–“

_Di_ _immortales_. She grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him towards her. 

He’s completely still, and for a moment she wonders if she made the right choice–until he responds, slow and hesitant. His lack of experience is endearing–all the other boys she’s kissed knew what they were doing, and the change is refreshing, to say the least. 

It’s not perfect: the wind tugs her hair into her face, their noses bump one too many times, but he smiles against her lips and a brazen thought crosses her mind: _I could get used to this_.

But he’s a hero, and she can’t forget that even if she wants to, so she pulls away. He looks shy–a sight she hasn’t seen, but a welcome one nonetheless. “I, uh, that was– did you just–“

She stares hard, willing herself to remember every detail about this moment: his gaze heavy lidded, dark, dazed; the scent of campfires washing over her; _him_ , so close yet so terribly far away. “That didn’t happen.”

He swallows, thoroughly frazzled. “Okay.”

“Get out of here.”

“Okay.”

He remains rooted to the spot for a moment more, before he steps onto the raft. “Don’t miss me too much,” he calls over his shoulder, voice wavering between solemnity and laughter. 

“In your dreams,” she scoffs, turning away so he can’t see the tears spilling down her face. It's not about him leaving, not really. A profound loneliness, the one that had set in before any hero came here, pulls at her chest with more intensity than it had in a while. 

She doesn't get far before she feels a tingle, and hears the gush of an ancient river in her ears. She whips around with wide eyes, but the raft is just a dot in the distance now. 

The sensation isn't familiar, but she knows it well. It's the roar of the river Styx, which can only mean one thing—

"Leo," she sighs, because it’s just like him to do something rash, just like him to seal his death. "Really?"

-

So that's it. Back to the life she's always known. 

Habits are hard to drop, though. She fills a basket with food before remembering there's no one at the beach. She turns to speak to someone who isn't there. There's no one to judge — her invisible spirits understand without a word — but she can't help the slow burn of shame. So she's gotten used to his presence. So she misses him. That doesn't mean anything, only that he is the latest in a long list. A perpetual cycle of losing people, over and over and over—

The figurehead on the fountain flies right off, crashing into a cluster of blackberry bushes. Water spurts everywhere. She lowers the hoe and surveys the mess. The spray is a welcome distraction. She might regret this later, when she has to clean up, but right now it's a form of petty satisfaction, destroying what he's fixed. 

She does regret it. Only because she wasted a perfectly good batch of blackberries. Maybe because it takes her way too long to fix the fountain. But she manages, and that's what matters. 

-

Strangely, there's a new sort of contentment that arises. She can _want_ someone, but she doesn’t _need_ anyone. She's not waiting for another to save her. Somehow, that makes all the difference. The days that pass are lighter—there's something thrilling about her being the hero of her own story. 

Moonflowers and Manhattan. Fire and bronze. Sea salt and wind. Hot nights and the glow of the crystal cave. They will always remind her of the boys she has loved, but the memories are more sweet than bitter, now. So she's lost people. But they were never really hers to begin with, and maybe it's time to find out exactly who she is, and what she wants. It feels like the beginning of a realisation she should've ages ago, but at least she's starting now. 

Of course, that's when everything goes to shit. 

-

In all honesty, Calypso doesn't know how she knows Leo died. 

That part is a blur—had she seen it from the looking glass he left behind? Had it been an impossibly real dream, startling her awake with phantom fire still burning on her skin? Had it been immortal intuition, a telepathic message from the gods? 

It doesn't matter; all she remembers is the slow cold dread settling in her bones, every part of her body until all she could think of was _the world has ended._

It must have. Leo wouldn't have died otherwise—he's too smart for that. Which means any time now, the sea will churn, the land will crumble, and she'll be tossed to Tartarus, or however Gaia wants to dispose of her. 

Except, nothing happens. The birds still sing. The air spirits, though fretful about her, still listen to her every command. The garden is flourishing. No holes appear to swallow her whole. Either Gaia is bidding her time, busy with destruction in other parts, or the world has not, in fact, ended. Or everyone, including Gaia, forgot about her. 

The first is unlikely. She doesn't like to think about how plausible the third is, which leaves the second option. But if that's so, then what does that mean for her? Is her imprisonment over? Is Olympus ravaged, trying to sort out their council before turning to other matters? 

She glares at the waves. They lap at her toes and draw away, unperturbed, undisturbed. 

She'll just have to live as she always has, and wait. 

-

As it turns out, she didn't wait for very long. 

“Your table’s really ugly.”

She falls backwards with an undignified shriek. A ghostly figure stands–no, floats–next to her shovel, an amused grin on his face. Leo Valdez looks exactly the same as the day he left, except he’s very clearly a spirit, and very clearly dead. 

“How– what did you–“

“Sorry I’m late.” His eyes glint, but there’s an unmistakable sadness in them. “Traffic was murder.”

She reaches for his face, just to be sure, and her hand passes through the apparition. “You died.”

He shrugs. “Occupational hazard.”

She shakes her head. Despite everything, she has an uncontrollable urge to smile. “How are you here? You should be in the underworld.”

He shrugs again. “Saving the world gives you some perks, I guess."

"So it worked," she says, more to herself than to him. His smile dims, and he flickers. "I hope so," he says quietly. "I'm not sure, honestly."

In her wildest dreams, she thought of him somehow defying all odds as he always seemed to do, and returning to her island. She thought of building her own raft and sailing away. None of it involved Leo returning as a ghost. It's impossible. Has never been done. 

He reaches for her hand, but all she feels is a gentle breeze, almost like a warm breath through her fingers. The sheer absurdity of it all makes her giggle, and that does it. He withdraws, looking wary as she cackled, actual tears of laughter running down her face. A ghost and an immortal. Just another punchline to the cosmic joke that she’s in. 

“Okay,” she says finally, wiping her eyes. There’s a strange expression on Leo’s face, like he can’t decide whether to laugh. “Why not? Welcome back, Valdez.”

-

After that, time seems to fly by. They spend the days exploring the island, every nook and cranny Leo didn’t get to see the first time (they had a deadline, but now they don’t), and the nights sprawled on the beach, stargazing and laughing over dinner. Neither of them discuss the odd tension that’s slowly and surely growing between them, nor the night he left — that seems like eons ago. Besides, as Leo so helpfully reminds her every time she asks him to tend the moonflowers or attempts to smack him, he’s a spirit. He can’t touch anything, let alone anyone.

What they _do_ learn, after Calypso throws a spade at him for the umpteenth time, is that he grows more corporeal by the day. It's a delightful discovery, but it only reminds her that this will end eventually, whether by their own hands or the gods'. She prefers the former. 

“You can’t stay here forever.”

“Neither can you,” he shoots back. Their hands stay firmly interlocked. 

"I'll leave when there's a way," she says. 

"There won't be one unless you find it." She doesn't bother replying; they've had this conversation in a thousand ways. "And where would you go?"

He shifts. "Back, I guess. Early retirement."

"Elysium must be nice."

"Yeah," he mutters. "Too bad I won't see it."

"What else would you get for saving the world?"

He freezes. There's a shift in the air, the tranquility of the night giving way to something dark and terrible. "Leo-"

"Yeah," he says lightly. He pulls his hand away, reaching for a scrap wire to fiddle with. She can feel his leg bouncing under the table. "I'm just being stupid."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

Her voice is hard. “Explain.”

“It’s nothing, really–“

" _Leo_."

His eyes flash, the first sign of genuine annoyance since they reunited. She glares back, invisible knots tightening in her chest. 

“I broke my oath.” The wind seems to get colder, whipping at them with greater ferocity. He doesn’t look at her. “So, obviously, I’m getting punished.” 

She remembers the night he left, the Styx loud and clear. "What oath?"

He places a miniature dragon structure on the table, his next words so soft she'd thought she'd imagined them. "To come back for you."

Of all impossible oaths. It's a dream and a nightmare come true. She shoves it aside to process later. “But you came back.” 

“Yeah, after I died. That doesn’t count.”

“That does count,” she insists, fury building up inside her. “I will talk to Hades and make sure of that.”

_When I leave_ , the words scream in the resulting silence. 

“Calypso,” Leo says, more serious than she’s ever seen him. “You need to get off this island.”

“And what will you do? Live here forever?”

He crosses his arms. “Don’t bring me into this. You _want_ to leave.”

“But I don’t want to leave you here.”

He tilts his head, faint amusement playing on his lips. “I’m coming with you.”

Neither of them bring up the possibility that he could, in fact, be stuck on Ogygia. “You’ll die, Leo. For good.”

“Then what? We both stay on Ogygia for eternity? Just you and me forever?” Phantom smoke rises from his being. Traces of ghostly fire run across his skin. “I wouldn’t wish that on you.”

“It’s not unbearable.” She’s surprised at how true it is. She doesn’t hate Ogygia, only the fact that she can’t go anywhere else. Leo is a welcome distraction, and if she’s being completely honest, something more. Something possibly permanent. 

A soft tinkling stops whatever Leo’s about to say. They turn to see a raft strike the shore, bobbing on the waves. 

-

“Well,” Leo says. “There’s your ride.”

She’s a bit confused. She doesn’t love him — like him, yes. But they both know she would pick freedom over him. Given time, given the right circumstances...maybe she could learn to. 

“Here.” Her bags appear, as does Leo. She hadn’t realised he’d gone. 

There’s a pause. This scene is too real, almost a copy of Leo’s first departure. He stares long and hard at the raft, clenching his jaw, before turning to her. “Oh, Calypso.” 

She can’t help the tears. Sadness or relief? Maybe both. 

There's no time for a final goodbye. Funny how things become so much lovelier when you're about to lose them. She takes one last look at Ogygia—the cave, the garden, the shore, and steps onto the raft. The spirits may follow, or disappear. She doesn't know how things work from here. 

Leo follows. The raft sets off immediately, and she's overcome by a sense of unsteadiness, uncertainty. This is so much more anticlimactic than she'd expected, so much messier. Countless questions unanswered and things left undone. But when has a farewell ever been perfect?

“If you go to Camp Half-Blood…” Leo starts, stirring her from her thoughts. “Can you talk to my friends? Tell them I’m sorry. And I’ll see them, preferably not any time soon.”

She gives a broken laugh. “Okay.”

The raft carries on, steady and sure in wherever it’s bringing them. He seems to fade by the minute. And _gods_ , it’s not fair. It’s not fair at all.

He turns to her, a soft smile on his lips. “Well, we tried.”

Calypso doesn’t say anything, only throws her arms around him. His hands are steady on her back. "I wish you had more time."

"I fulfilled my purpose," he says. "Save the world, or whatever. But you—yours is just beginning."

That's a whole other discussion by itself—she's sick of heroes being disposed after their _usefulness_ to the gods is gone. Him especially, when he'd stuck to his oath even after death. But there's no time for that. She can barely seen him anymore. "Good luck," she says, because _I love you_ isn't entirely true, and because it means nothing. What can love do here, but bring heartbreak? 

He pulls back to look at her, a soft smile on his lips. "Thank you," he says, and then he's gone. 

Belatedly, she realises she’s alone once again, in an endless sea of blue. Except, it's not endless—the first rays of the sun scatter across the water, its light reaching for her. This, like everything else before, is temporary. She closes her eyes and waits. 


End file.
